


Agape

by imprimatur13



Category: Christian Bible, Sefer Makabim | Books of the Maccabees
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hope after Trauma, Love, Something Resembling Romance, Tenderness, bonding through pain, feelings of inferiority, historical fiction - Freeform, nothing at all to do with the holiday of hanukkah except very tangentially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imprimatur13/pseuds/imprimatur13
Summary: Judah Maccabeus has led a successful rebellion against Alexander's Seleucid successors, and freed his people to worship in the way their religion commanded. But where does this leave everyone else?The beginning of the Hasmonean dynasty, like all others, had its dark underside the history books don't speak about, and in this story we investigate a small part of it. One-shot.
Relationships: Judah Maccabeus/OC, OC/OC (Yeah that doesn't help much does it)
Kudos: 1





	Agape

**Author's Note:**

> Vocab note: Terumah is a priestly tithe, given to priests as a small portion of the produce of one's fields. It was absolutely forbidden for one who was not a priest themselves, or the wife of a priest, or a priest's slave, to eat of it. Doing so would invite extreme divine punishment.

Michal, daughter of Hezekiah. Ever since he laid eyes on her the first time after her father's death, and saw the way her oiled tresses cascaded down her face, the way she smiled at him when he saw her carrying a basket of her dates to market, he knew he had to be with her. The love he felt at the time was something he had never felt before, and didn't think he would ever feel again. It was like all rational thought left the priest, and he just forgot everything he had planned to do that day, all of the sacrifices he was supposed to offer, and ran after her.

Her back was to him, but she felt him approaching, and she stopped. He came behind her, and she said, "What does a priest want with me? I've already separated the terumah from these."

He circled around her so he could see her face as she spoke. "Don't be like that. We're not all like that, you know."

"Parasitic leeches, living off the public dole, getting fat on our sacrifices, you mean?"

He sighed. "Yes. That. We're not all like that."

"In that case, leave me, Maccabeus. I've business to conduct."

She began walking, and Judah kept step with her.

"I'm not a priest right now," he said.

"Then what are you?"

He swallowed.

"A man, like any other."

"Amazing," she said. "Somehow I want to see you even _less_ than I did before."

"Come on, Michal, you know you don't mean that," he said.

"Like hell I don't."

She led him off the main road to an alley. Once they arrived, she set her pack down and spoke harshly. 

"You saw what your brother Simon did to us."

"Simon... was troubled," Judah said.

"As if I care," Michal said. "I for one am glad the Hellenists caught him."

" _Michal._ "

"What? Do you think you can protect him, even now? Your heroism would be admirable if it were more discriminate. Your brother was _evil_ , and nothing you can do can change it. By standing up for him, you're just complicit in his crimes."

He leaned opposite Michal, against the wall of the alley, and turned his head skyward. He watched the gulls fly in the crevice formed by the buildings that shaped his view of the heavens.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe Simon's sins can never be fully expiated, even by a thousand rams on the altar."

"If _I_ were God, I certainly would want nothing of any animals brought in that man's name," she said.

Without averting his eyes from the heavens, Judah mused. "Does the Lord ever refuse a sacrifice? Are not all offerings pleasant before him, if brought with sincerity of heart?"

" _My_ God cares more for the plight of widows, orphans, and young girls made to suffer the brutalities of arrogant sons of Aaron."

Judah looked at her. Her eyes were moist, her face downcast.

"What are you implying?"

Her voice sank to a whisper. "You know very well."

Did he? He... remembered the way he had seen Simon, after Simon came back from visiting Hezekiah's house to collect his priestly gifts. He was always quiet, but that night, for the first time in his life, he entered the house laughing.

Judah had asked Simon what had happened. Simon just brushed him off and went to his quarters, telling Judah that he had had "an excellent meal", and needed a long rest.

Simon had always been known to keep to himself, a depressive who lived in the gloomy cave of his own mind. Sometimes Judah caught his eyes afire with desire, or envy, but he had never known him to do anything about it. Even persuading him to collect his own terumah was a constant battle, but their father would never have allowed Simon to become so reliant on others as to force them to collect his terumah for him.

After that day, Simon continued to stay inside as much as possible, nose buried in his Scripture -- though Judah knew he kept copies of Homer and Plato; Judah never said anything to their father since he felt Simon should have _some_ joy in his life, sinful though it was -- except on the second Thursday of every month, when Hezekiah's terumah was due. Then he always left in anticipation and returned satisfied, like the first time.

This continued for several years, until Hezekiah died and his estate went to his sons. Judah attended the funeral with his brothers and father. Simon attending was a rare excursion outside the house, but Judah simply assumed that Simon had grown fond of the old man. When the mourners passed between the rows of guests, Judah nodded silently to each. When Michal and her brothers passed Simon, she did not look at him, but he looked at her with that same longing that Judah had seen before.

Judah was naive enough at the time to assume that Simon had started to court Michal with Hezekiah's approval, but that her brothers did not approve of the match, which led her to display this cool exterior.

Michal and her brothers sold their father's estate, and moved to the Galilee, as far as Judah knew.

He considered it a pity for the two young lovers, but resolved to make the most of the situation. After that point, he proposed many matches to Simon on his father's behalf, but Simon never showed any interest. Judah assumed that Simon had despaired of love.

Eventually, when Judah and his brothers made their famous uprising against the Hellenists, Simon was caught by a stray arrow. The Hellenists captured him in his weakened state, and reports came back that he had died under torture.

Judah shook his head. "I... I didn't know."

"Perhaps you didn't," she said. "But now you do. So forgive my reluctance to enjoy your company, and leave me alone from now on. I will send my tithes through a messenger to your house, if you'd like." She moved to go.

He put his hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened. "I don't care about your tithes. I just want to make up for what Simon did to you."

"Sadly," Michal said, "It's not that simple. Nothing you, or any man can do, could repair the damage. I can only live on, and shoulder the burden."

"I want to help you," he said. "Let me carry it with you."

She looked at the ground, visibly uncomfortable. There was some silence, and then she said, "I'm sorry, but I can't. Ever since then, I haven't been able to think about priests or the Temple without retching. I'm sure you're the polar opposite of your brother, but even so."

By this point, Judah's fond memories of Simon were twisted by disgust. But he could not turn away from Michal, though seeing her reminded him of Simon, and what he had done.

"I assure you, we are brothers in name only. That man disgraced the name of Maccabeus, and I will do everything in my power to restore our honour in your eyes. If I must abdicate my position I shall do so. It will be a worthy penance to cleanse our family."

She laughed without mirth. "One cannot simply leave the priesthood."

"No," he said. "But one can use its gifts for a higher purpose than self-enrichment." He pointed to her basket. "Leave that here, and come with me."

She hesitated.

"Come on," he said. "It's not far."

She gestured to her basket.

"We'll return for it later," he said.

They left, Judah leading, and Michal following, keeping a distance of several cubits.

* * *

They arrived at the port. Judah saw the ships coming in from Ionia, and Cyprus, laden with goods destined for the Temple. He rarely came here, but his name was great all over Judea, and none of the sailors or merchants stood in his way.

Judah brought Michal to a ship, and asked her to wait on the dock while he went to meet the merchant privately in the cabin of the ship.

She was only left waiting for a half hour, if that, but she drank in the sights while she was there. _Wealth... wealth beyond what I had ever dreamed of._ she thought.

She remembered her youth. Her house had never been rich, but they were respectable.

Until Simon Maccabeus started coming to collect.

The first time he came, he seemed out of place in his own skin. Like he was forced to be there, forced even to _exist_ at all. She stood behind the doorway as her father dealt with him.

Then, he saw her.

It was as if a monstrous transformation occurred in him. She didn't think that her father noticed, most people wouldn't have. But _she_ could see it. See the way his eyes moved over her, as if she were a slab of meat in a vat of peace-offerings. She saw the _hunger_ inside of him.

She quickly retreated back into the house.

Later, after he had left, carrying dates and figs grown in her family's orchards, she asked her father who he was. He told her it was the local priest, one of Judah's brothers.

She asked him if he noticed anything strange about the man. Her father said only that he looked a bit sickly, and expressed sympathy for his physical condition.

_He really doesn't see it? Am I the only one?_

She decided that she would stay out of view the next time the priest came.

* * *

Michal was tending to the garden in the courtyard, crouching down to harvest sprigs of mint and thyme. They grew well in the arid soil near Jerusalem; in fact the mint threatened to overpower every other plant in the garden, so it was necessary to harvest it frequently lest it grow too much.

She persisted in her task, and allowed herself to taste a few of the leaves as she worked. It was a pleasant diversion, and the sky above, blue with only a few wisps of cloud, brought her serenity in her labours.

After another hour of work, her basket entirely full, she stretched. She had been at it since dawn, and in these hot Judean summers it was only natural to seek the shade of a large tree to rest in at noon. She didn't have a palm, but there was a willow at the nearby wadi, and she went there and laid her head to rest against the trunk of the tree. Her house was in sight, and the willow branches cascading down from the heavens, along with the comforting bubbling water close by, convinced her to let the toil of the day catch up with her, and she surrendered herself to sleep.

Then, she felt the wind blowing on her face, and she opened her eyes reluctantly. She saw in her refocusing vision her father and another man at the door of the house.

_The priest._

She had forgotten that today was the day he was supposed to come. She had been planning to go inside earlier, but she had lost track of time and gotten tired.

Michal grabbed her basket, and started walking -- not too quickly, lest her steps be heard -- to the back door of the house.

Only a few steps on her way, she was interrupted by her father's voice calling to her.

"Michal," he said. "Come here, I want to introduce you to someone."

Her legs froze beneath her, even as her forehead secreted a thin sheen of sweat.

Still, her father's command was inviolate. She couldn't refuse a direct order; it would run counter to all her training in life so far, to honour her father.

And her father was wise. He had never advised her poorly before, and all of his instructions were to her benefit. Maybe she was just imagining the priest's lusts. Maybe it was just her silly, girlish fantasies that led her to feel that way.

A voice inside her protested, said that this man was dangerous.

But she forced it to silence, out of a pure faith in her father's word.

So she walked, hesitant, to her father and Simon.

As she neared, her father's words floated on the gentle air to her.

"Ah, there's the daughter of my old age!" He smiled at her. "My dear, I was just telling Simon here how you had asked about him, and wouldn't you know it, but he seems to have an eye for you!" He laughed. "And here I thought I was the only one who appreciated your sweetness."

The fear crept from Michal's feet to her chest, tightening it like a snake wrapped around her ribcage.

"Oh, thank you, Father," she murmured.

"Of course, dear daughter, you can always count on me," Hezekiah said. He hugged her, and kissed the crown of her head. Holding her in one arm, he turned to Simon. "Don't worry, she's not usually this subdued; she's exuberant like her mother."

"Oh, that's quite all right," Simon said, eyes sparkling with joy. "I think I rather prefer it that way."

* * *

Michal saw Judah returning to the docks with a small barrel on his shoulder. He smiled when he saw her.

She smiled back, weak; anyone else looking at it would have thought that she was simply unhappy to see him, smiling in order to not offend him. A casual observer might have further thought that their relationship was strained; perhaps Judah was an errant husband returning to comfort his wife after one too many indiscretions in a Cypriot brothel.

Judah ran up to her and put the barrel in her arms. She was hardened by work in the fields, so she carried it easily. She heard sloshing within, and the smell of olive oil was overpowering.

"What is this?"

"Oil for the Temple menorah," he said.

He winked.

She looked at the barrel. It was just like any other barrel of oil one could buy in a port like this; could it really be the sacred oil that God required for his exclusive service?

"It is," Judah said. "I know you won't believe me, but I typically pick up the new shipments myself. Granted, this is only a small portion of this month's supply, but," and here he gestured with his neck back to the ship he had gotten the barrel from; the sailors were already unlashing the ropes and putting it back out to sea, "I figured I had a better use for it."

She brought her eyes back to meet his, and saw his burning with excitement.

"And what's that?" she asked.

"You'll find out," he said. "Come, let me bring you back to my house." He heard her sigh. _I shouldn't have said that. Not that way._ "I want to show you the person I am."

"Maybe," she said. "Let's just... have a good time, ok?"

"Certainly." Judah was desperately afraid of ruining this time; he felt as if he had been able to carve out a very small slice of happiness for them both to share. He felt a great longing in his heart to love Michal, to make up for what his brother had done, but he also felt a kernel of weakness. Like a worm in a corpse, it reminded him of his inability to undo the old wounds that Simon had left in her.

But he felt that the right thing to do was to _try_. He felt that there was something in her eyes that allowed him to see what she was thinking, and it seemed like she was thinking that she was happy when she was with him. He couldn't be sure. But he hoped.

Michal walked next to Judah. There was something about him so reminiscent of his brother. The same gait. The same way they held their heads high.

But there was a difference. While Simon's head was high only when he was looking at Michal, and low any other time, Michal saw that Judah's head, normally raised in quiet dignity, was now lowered when he spoke to her. It wasn't that he was excessively modest; had he been, there was no way he would have talked to her like this, or even considered inviting her to his house. Especially without a formal offer of marriage.

No, he avoided her gaze for another reason. She wasn't quite sure why. But she knew that... it was different. And she wanted to know more.

"Judah," she said.

"Yeah?"

"I don't like not knowing what's going to happen. Tell me, what are you planning for us at your house?"

"Ah." He sighed. "Well, just a relaxing meal. Then you'll be free to go on your way. How does that sound?"

"I'm not of a priestly family though," she said. "I can't eat any of your tithes or sacred gifts. What will you feed me?"

He lifted one eye to hers. Her breath caught for a second, seeing his eyelashes flash. "Why can't you? I told you. God's gifts are given to the righteous. Anyone who would deny a hungry woman food could never be worthy of the name 'righteous one of the Most Merciful.' You need food. It will be my pleasure, and sacerdotal duty to do what I can to help."

He returned his eyes to the road ahead, and they walked on.

As they neared his house, Judah called to his servant, a swarthy man with long hair, holding a sheet of papyrus and standing in front of a group of barrels.

"Menelaos!"

Menelaos' ears pricked up, but he finished writing before putting the papyrus and quill on the nearest barrel and running to Judah. "Yes, Master Judah?" His hands were clasped behind him, and Michal thought she had never seen such long hair on a man before.

"Could you ready a meal for myself and my guest?"

Menelaos bowed. "Certainly, Master Judah. Will this be a terumah-meal or...?"

"Terumah, please," Judah said. "And use the special oil for it."

"Excellent, Master," Menelaos said, and walked backwards, bowing.

"Judah," Michal said, "How does he walk like that without tripping?"

"Oh, he's used to it," Judah said.

"I see," she said.

"Never mind that," he said. "Let's go inside. You must be tired, after standing outside all day."

Michal followed him inside. Judah's house was built in the Athenian style, ironic for such an anti-Hellenist. White marble pillars surrounding it on all sides, inside were marble floors and golden tapestries on the walls. There were no mythological mosaics or statues as one might find in a true Hellenist's home, but there were Persian carpets and geometric sculptures of Plato's ideal solids, which belied a certain admiration for Greek philosophy and mathematics.

Indeed, while the Judean religious and legalistic tradition was older even than the Greek, and some philosophical wisdom could be found in Hebrew books such as Solomon's Wisdom, or Sirach, there was certainly nothing that compared to the pragmatic, scientific innovations of the inhabitants of the Aegean. Not that such did not exist in the East; on the contrary, the Babylonians were admired even by Pythagoras and his cohort for their early innovations in geometry and arithmetic. Yet, somehow, Michal's countryment had never thought to include these foreign wisdoms in their own canon of knowledge, and so had entirely ignored all Babylonian science, with the sole exception of astronomy. But even that was only for the sake of aligning the calendar for religious purposes. Like everything else. Everything was religion.

There was nothing like the Greek notion of a separation between the sacred and the mundane. The gods were not individuals more concerned with themselves and their own service than anything; the Judean God was an all-consuming fire who demanded that every one of His people be entirely devoted to his worship, in all of their deeds. Of course they weren't expected to spend all day praying - most people didn't really pray that much, except on holidays or the Day of Atonement - but everyone's actions were supposed to be oriented to the greater glory of God. Every business deal one made had to be honest, lest God punish you and exclude you from his community of the elect.

Not that Judaism was a monolithic religion, intolerant of any deviations. But whether you were a Pharisee, an Essene, or even a Sadducee, this was a decent approximation of your worldview.

Michal found it suffocating, frankly. She never said anything of the sort to her father, for fear the news would distress him. But she had always wanted to see what the rest of the world had to offer.

Judah led her into a back room, with a meal already set up. Menelaos was waiting there. She sat next to Judah on a richly upholstered couch.

"Come, Michal," Judah urged, "Eat."

She looked at the food arrayed before her. Bread spiced with dill, bowls of vegetable stews, trays of lamb. There was a whole roast kid on the table. She looked into its eyes. She saw an emptiness in them that frightened her. A helplessness.

"I'm sorry, Judah," she said. "I just... can't."

"Do you not like this sort of food, then?"

The concern in his eyes was touching. It tore at her heart to refuse his offer, but she had no choice.

She was unworthy of this food. Apart from any concerns about profaning sacred gifts, she was not the sort of woman who was destined to enjoy delicacies as would befit a king's table. Indeed, Judah, and the rest of the Maccabeoi, were now very close to kings. Some of the people were proclaiming them as divinely appointed saviours, even as others condemned them for having plunged Judea into a century of darkness without the light of Hellenic wisdom.

She simply wanted to be a maiden working to help her old father live the rest of his life in tranquility on his modest estate. She knew that this was impossible, now that her father was dead, but she still couldn't let go of the dream in her heart.

To go back to the old days. Before Father's death, and before Simon.

And though she thought she would be able to steel herself, eat this food, and enjoy Judah's kindness, it seemed that in the end, the self-hatred, and sense of *smallness*, that consumed her from the inside like a plague, would never stop haunting her.

She hated herself. Not only did she cause herself pain, but she caused Judah pain too.

"I'm not hungry," she said. Her stomach protested this obvious lie, but her heart would not allow her to taste the richness before her.

Judah looked down at the food for a moment. _Should I tell her? Should I tell her I used sacred oil for her meal? I betrayed my oath as a priest, my divine covenant. I want to tell her about it, so that she may know that I consider her more important._

_But I can't._

_What if she recoils from it? Why would she believe me, anyway; I remind her of Simon, she practically said as much. I must treat her gently, and with caution, like Phoenician glass._

_I should be happy that she agreed to come to my house, and not tempt fate._

"All right then. Menelaos," Judah said.

"Yes, Master?"

He gestured to the table. "I want you to remove this. Allow my guest and me some privacy. In the meantime, prepare the guesthouse for her."

Menelaos bowed. "Understood, Master."

Menelaos left, and shortly afterwards, several servants came in. They all looked Greek, and well-fed, though hardworking. They carried out the platters with nary a sound. It seemed to Michal as if they were so thorough, quick, and discreet, that the food had never been on the table in the first place.

Judah reclined on the couch, his chin resting on his right palm. "Tell me, Michal," he said. "What ails you? And don't protest that nothing is wrong; you are clearly not happy right now. So tell me. Why? Is it something I did?"

She wished he wouldn't make this so difficult for her. It was difficult enough to come through these doors, and see the wealth that Simon had always boasted of, after he had done with her what he willed. It was as if Judah was _promising_ her happiness. As if he could _give_ it to her, out of the kindness of his heart. As if it were something that could even _be_ given by one person to another in the first place!

Happiness is something that each person must acquire for themselves, or not. She was no philosopher, but she had gleaned as much from her -- now illicit, under Maccabean decree -- studies of Epictetus, which she supplemented with her own musings. Thoughts such as these kept her company during nights alone in her own bed, and the even lonelier ones when Simon was there; in order to disconnect herself from his dark movement inside of her, she would imagine herself a totally impervious, perfect sphere of light hovering in ideal space.

It was never quite enough, but it was better than the alternative.

And now, seeing Judah acting like this... Like he wanted to help her. It touched her heart, and she truly felt some warmth from him, some affection. She felt that he really did care for her. She appreciated it. She wished she were not so broken. Then maybe she could accept it.

But the thought of spending any time under his care, his protection, felt only like it would be the same as subjecting herself to his whims. The thought that Judah was just like Simon, though with a kinder, gentler facade, was one she knew false, but that kept whispering itself in her ear.

Times like this made her want to kill herself. Only then would the world be rid of this parasite, that accepted help but could not show appreciation.

"I'm tired," she said.

"Then," he said, "You're going to want to... ah, you would want to be alone, wouldn't you?"

Did she?

Even she didn't know. How could he?

"Menelaos!" he called. "Lead my guest to her chambers!"

The slave was back so quickly it was as if he had never left. He turned to Michal, and bowed. "M'lady, where shall we go?"

"My chambers, I suppose," she said.

She stood up, and followed Menelaos down a corridor. She heard Judah's voice behind her as she left, "Enjoy your rest, Michal. I hope you will be feeling better tomorrow; I shall prepare something to entertain you and lift your spirits."

"Thank you, Judah," she called back.

_Oh, I'm sure that whatever it is, it will be of great use. I'm sure I will love it. Right? I, someone who is worthy only of death?_

_I hate myself._

_I hate this._

_I hate people trying to cheer me up._

_I can't... I just can't stand it. What can they know of my own feelings? I am a fundamentally broken woman, shattered under the weight of cruelties poured upon me._

_I am fragile._

_Someone strong like that cannot understand._

_I am an empty void, but I do not want to be filled. Not by the likes of him, one who is alienated from my existence, no matter what he believes to the contrary._

_Because in the end?_

_I kind of enjoy it. I kind of enjoy this emptiness._

_Nothing has more potential than an empty hole. And a ring is the only figure that can keep its purity, a circle enclosing the void of the soul. Would not the Stoics agree?_

The two of them reached a door. Menelaos was in front of Michal, and opened it. He bowed and gestured to the entrance. She went in.

A simple room. A bed, made with Egyptian bedding. A small table with a candle, already lit. She sat on the bed, then laid down on her back.

"I do hope this room will be to your liking, M'lady," Menelaos said. She could not see his face for her eyes were closed. "If it is not, do not hesitate to let me know. Merely call my name and I shall appear."

"Thank you, servant," she said, too tired to look at him as she spoke. It was impolite, but who really cared? "I'll be going to sleep then."

"Excellent," he said. God, she could _hear_ the servility. Was he even a man, or had the indignities of slavery warped him into something less than human?

She opened one eye.

Darkness, and Menelaos was gone as well.

She lay, and imagined the emptiness at the centre of her being expanding until it filled all the world. And so, sleep took her soul yet again to the realm of Sheol.

* * *

As Michal slept, she saw figures before her. She knew not who they were, nor whence they came, nor whither they went. She knew only that she stood in their midst, and they moved around her, and none of them took any notice of her.

* * *

She woke. She felt cold even under the richly woven cotton sheets. She saw nothing but darkness, and at first feared that she was still asleep. Then she realized that she must have woken before dawn.

She did not wish to be left in the dark silence, reflecting the face of her soul.

She slipped out from under the covers, and carefully inched towards the table with the candle.

She found it easily enough, but then realized there was no way to light it.

Her skin crawled at the thought, but she did it anyway.

"Menelaos?" she said, careful not to raise her voice _too_ much. She was fairly certain that her quarters were separated from those of the main house though, and likely next to the servants', so she wasn't worried about waking Judah.

A knock at the door.

"Enter," she said.

He opened the door. Even in the darkness, she could hear his humble shuffling footsteps.

_Disgusting. The Greeks have produced wisdom, but there is nothing in this Hellene that is worth anything at all. He has none of the quiet dignity of their philosophers. He is only a peasant, and without any intellect or virtue._

He entered. His smell pervaded the room. Sweat, like an animal.

"I have come, my lady."

"Well. I require light," she said.

"Yes, certainly." She could see the silhouette of a bow.

A sound of metal striking something, and there was a small torch, no bigger than a man's finger.

She saw his haggard features, his long hair matted with sweat.

He moved to light her lamp.

The wick sparked and fizzed, then shone clear.

Michal got up from the bed, and took her book from its hiding place under the pillow. She walked to the table, and sat.

She began to read. Truly, the words of Platon always sparked her curiosity. Even if she often disagreed with him, for he made far too many assumptions -- implicit as well as explicit -- for her liking, his arguments always had a very natural flow to them that she appreciated.

 _What_ is _the ideal relationship between the upper and lower classes anyway?_

The current page was discussing this question, and she would have enjoyed it far more, if not for the creeping feeling that something was different this time.

_Oh yes._

The servant was still there.

Had she forgotten to dismiss him? No matter.

She looked up from the book, and was shocked.

Menelaos was right behind her, and she could feel his breath, warm and wet on her neck.

"Servant."

"I-I'm sorry, m'lady," he said, and she could see his face was red in the lamplight. "I just couldn't resist-"

"Servant," she said, very simply. "I do not care what your perverse impulses would lead you to. If you think that I have any sympathy for the weakness of your flesh, you are severely mistaken. I pray for your sake that your Master will allow you to live when he hears of this."

"M'lady, you do not understand," he said, his voice quiet, and head bowed.

"Explain yourself, then."

She hated that her seated position forced her to look up at the dog in front of her, and was grateful that he was at least looking at the floor, where he belonged.

"My lady, I have been in this house for a decade. Master Judah is most benevolent, but..."

"But what? He hasn't given you a maidservant to sate your lusts on? Perhaps he's not that much of a misogynist. Good for him, not letting any female -- _bitch_ though she may be -- suffer under you."

"It is not so, my lady. He has offered, many times, but I have always refused. He has been kind enough to allow me to do so."

"Oh, are your perversions _that_ deep-rooted, then? Do you prefer young boys, like so many of your kind?"

"No," he said. "It is in no way related to matters of the flesh."

"Well then, I was hoping you'd be clever enough to conjure up a more plausible excuse. What could you possibly have been unable to control, if not your sick impulses?"

"My curiosity," he said.

"And what brought on that curiosity, then? The sight of my flesh through the thinness of my garment? The curve of my back, the skin of my neck?"

"Your book," Menelaos said.

"What about this book, servant? Do you expect me to read pornography? Is that what your women used to do, the literate ones?"

"I know that book," he said.

Michal laughed, throaty. "Certainly you do. Prove it, then."

"Yes, m'lady."

She opened to a page near the beginning. "What does Socrates hold regarding death and immortality of the soul, as described in this book?"

"M'lady, he says nothing on the subject in that book."

"Oh? So you are unaware even of Socrates' famous trial of hemlock, and his views on the transmigration of the eternal essence of Man? Unsurprising, given your own soul, if it exists, is unworthy of anything but being ground under the heels of Sisyphus."

"I am aware," Menelaos said. "But Socrates does not state this in that book, for that book is Platon's book of Laws, in which Socrates does not himself appear. Though his ideas of course make themselves known by their influence on the Athenian."

"Very nice!" Michal clapped. "How long did it take you to memorize a few lines of Platon? You know, I think Judah should hire you out as an entertainer at dinner parties! Then the city elites can hear Greek wisdom and whip you for it. It would be great fun, don't you think?"

"It seems," Menelaos said, "You are making baseless assumptions. Milady."

She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh! Of course! How silly of me. Implying you can think." She patted his shoulder, a look of glee in her eye. "Sorry, I do not want to place greater burdens on you than you can bear. Forgive my indiscretion."

"Tell me," he said, "Why do you enjoy this? You must know you're being needlessly condescending. Is it my station? My nation? Or are you one of those women with an inborn hatred for the opposite sex? Tell me, you must at least owe me that, no? The reason for my punishment? Only a cruel judge does not tell the criminal his sin."

She crossed her legs, and looked away from him. "Do you habitually creep up on women when they are reading, and pant on their necks like a mongrel?"

"Well... erm..."

"So you can hardly blame me, I think."

Menelaos sighed. "I... I suppose you're right."

Michal shifted uncomfortably.

Menelaos panicked. "I.. I assure you! I had no untoward intentions! I just... that book."

Michal smiled on the side of her mouth, a gesture like half the world was lifted while the rest was buried in death. "Haven't read in a while?"

"No! Never! Not since I was sold to Master Judah."

She chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right." She exhaled. "All right then. Would you like to just pretend this whole thing never happened? I admit I misjudged your intent."

Menelaos scratched his neck. "Yes! Yes, but..."

"But?"

He leaned forward in his seat, and she instinctively recoiled.

He stopped, noticing her reaction, and leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling.

Michal bit her lip, "It's just..."

"It's fine," he said, eyes still heavenward. "You don't need to explain. Just... be. I understand."

She debated whether to whisper a "thanks", but ultimately decided against it. Silence is best here. Don't want to ruin the mood.

She looked up at Menelaos, and noticed the lock of hair pasted over his forehead, while the rest of his hair had fallen back as he leaned.

"I kind of wanted to hear more," he said.

"More? Of what?"

"I..." He left it trailing.

"Menelaos? What did you want to hear?"

He tilted his head to face her, and his hair fell back into place. It was thick... Michal could imagine her--

_Ah._

_Hmm._

_I've heard of this happening._

_Is this... Am I... Really?_

_Best not to prematurely assume things. If that's the only thing I've learned from this interaction..._

"I wanted to see if you would read it to me," he said.

_Ah. See? I misjudged. He really isn't... that way._

"You mean the book? Platon's?"

"Yes," Menelaos said. "I used to be a pedagogue in Cyprus, so while I was illiterate, the schoolchildren would often discuss their studies with me, and some of them would read to me. Platon's treatise on Laws was the last one they were studying, before Judah's men came to exact tribute from the Hellenistic Iudaioi on the island. The local governors, appointed by the Ptolemaike, were unwilling to intercede in a conflict that they felt was strictly between Iudaioi. I was taken as tribute, and Master Judah brought me to his house.

"He has always treated me well, but he instructed me that there was to be no form of Greek learning in this country, least of all in his house, or by one of his slaves. He did not even allow me to use the Greek tongue, though he knew it. He forced me to perform my duties deaf and mute, while I was trained by a Phoenician in the use of Aramaic."

He looked at his arms, and lifted his sleeves. They were covered in marks.

"Come, look," he said.

Michal cautiously inched forward.

She peered at his arms. Part of her grew excited to see them, thick and rippling with muscle, but...

She coughed. "Letters."

"Yes," he said, looking in her eyes. Pain reflected from them. "Letters. Every time I could not produce the correct Aramaic phrase in response to a question, or mispronounced something, they branded me with a letter.

"Excuse me a moment," he said.

Michal drew back, torn.

Menelaos began to remove his tunic. "I'm lucky," he said, as it went over his head, "That there are only," and he bent over to let it fall, "Twenty-two letters," and the tunic made a soft sound like waves on the Aegean as it slid to the ground.

He turned around, so Michal could see his back.

On it were written, in black fire, every letter in the Aramaic script. For the letters with closed forms, the Mem and Samekh, she could see the point where the loop closed. It was much darker than the rest, and...

She instinctively reached out, and touched the point where the loop of the Samekh closed.

He winced.

She drew back.

"It's ok," he said. He laughed weakly. "It's the least I can do for you, after I scared you before. Go on."

She touched the point, lightly. He gasped.

"I shouldn't," she said.

"I told you it's ok, and I'll honour my word," Menelaos said. "Do you mind if I talk, though? To distract myself?"

"Sure," she said.

She watched as he sat on the ground. She then sat behind him.

She knew it hurt him, and she didn't want to, but... she had to. She had to touch the marks, feel for herself what had been done to this... man. This person. This fellow person. She had to make his pain real to herself, she had to _know_.

She began to touch him. She could see the sweat running down his back, the proof of his pain, but true to his word, he did not react.

He began to speak.

"You know, we pedagogues sometimes become close to our charges. Not in the way you alluded to before. But... I was invited to the home of one of my students, Alexandros -- is there a more typical name for a Hellenized Iudaios? -- son of Petros. The house of my upbringing was a house of slaves, and we never knew true family, being typically rented out to the highest bidder, until I was permanently hired by this school as a pedagogue (and cleaner in the evenings). But in his home, I saw real... what do they call it? The..."

"Love?" Michal asked, in Aramaic.

"No, what the philosophers call it. I..." he shook his head. She thought she heard a light sob. "I can't say it."

She drew close to his ear, hand still on his back. "It's all right," she whispered. "I will say nothing, this night is between you and me alone."

Sob. "A-agape."

Ah, pure, selfless love, as a mother felt for her son, or a god for his worshippers, if one believed the philosophers. Michal had felt that once herself, before Simon arrived. She longed to have those days back, though she had despaired of ever seeing the like again. Though maybe, now...

Michal took her hand off Menelaos' back, and held his head in her breast as he cried. She felt his cool tears run down her chest, drenching her heart in his pain.

"I miss them," he said, in Greek.

She stroked the hair on the back of his head, and kissed his locks. She said nothing, for what could she say to ease his pain? She knew so little of his life, of the children he led and laughed with. Only his own memories could comfort him now.

As Michal held him, Menelaos' sobs grew quieter, as his pent-up frustration was released through his sobs. Soon he was quiet. His head was still held fast to her breast, and he put his arms around her in an embrace.

She felt that he was relying on her to anchor him to this world, that without her presence and physical contact, his psyche might take flight and plunge herself into the Styx.

She could never bear him to separate himself from her like that, she decided.

For in holding him like this, she felt she was saving him from the pain of his past.

Even though it was fake.

Even though she knew that there was no way she could redeem him from his enslavement to the most powerful man in the country, much less return him to his former post, to the boys and families in whose warm embrace he had delighted.

Even so. She decided to find solace in this one moment, to pretend that there was neither past nor future in this world. She decided that she would relieve his pain by her kindness, and save him.

Moreover, she felt that the tears he shed upon her breast were proof of not only his pain, but also his trust in her, the feeling that he could expose his deepest vulnerabilities to her gaze, and though her eyes would burn his soul as they illuminate his wounds with their probing light, he knew she would heal him again with her love.

She had never felt able to do that. She had never felt able to heal her own sorrows, much less another's. It was a burden too great to bear, something that one could never carry alone. Michal had begun to doubt it could even be carried by another; after all, are not sorrows loads that, if carried by ten, simply increase themselves a hundredfold? They are like fires, which when spread from lamp to lamp, do not distribute evenly the burning substance, but instead multiply it like living creatures.

But now, she knew she had erred. She knew that if another carries the burden of sorrow, it is like snuffing out the lamp. Though it may singe one's fingers to do so, it is a small price paid which thus extinguishes the flames of agony. And Menelaos had showed her this, by allowing her into his heart.

 _So,_ Michal surmised, _would it not be possible for another to save me too?_

_Would it not be possible for another to reach inside my heart, with hands of love and tenderness, find the Gordian knot of my woes, and cut it with a deft fingernail?_

_I do not know, for even if I can bring relief to this man, I am not so naive as to think that he will be able to do the same for me. Just because water flows from high places to low, does not mean it later flows backwards against its original course._

_Perhaps I still need to find someone to heal me, or perhaps Menelaos here can indeed reciprocate._

_I do not know._

_What I do know, however, is that it is possible. That the relief to the hell through which I wander every night as I lay myself to sleep, as I close my eyes and relive the joyful days when my mother was there, days too painful in their lack for me to ever speak any more of them. The hell I am led through as I sleep, and my dreams are captured by spirits of vengeance, arising from an unmarked grave of a man hailed as a hero, but whose greatest act of violence was in my bed._

_All of these are indelible wounds. They cannot be erased, just as all the waters of the ocean cannot wash away the rocky promontories of the Hellenic islands._

_But, perhaps, they might soften the jagged edges of the rocks._

Menelaos now slept. His soft, rhythmic breaths tickled her, and she moved his head slowly, gently, careful not to wake him. She placed it, laying on its side, in her lap.

Michal would sleep soon.

But not yet.

First she had to savor the moment.

For she had, quite unexpectedly, become another's salvation. And in doing so, she had begun to hope again.

And hope was such a fragile thing.

She could not fall asleep, lest it fade away.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks!
> 
> Kind of rare for me to write something that isn't, well, Fate/ fanfic, but it seems like I needed to write this to get myself out of some writer's block. Hopefully I'll stay out of it.
> 
> Though in all honesty, as I wrote this I felt like I *was* just writing a Fate fanfic, with some of the names of the characters changed. For those who're familiar with that series it would probably not be difficult to guess, but that aside...
> 
> Read a bunch of Nabokov recently. Titus Andronicus as well, since Psycho Pass' Makishima Shougo mentioned it. Great books, and great play.
> 
> About the Maccabean revolt... worth remembering that the whole impetus of the rebellion was religious oppression from the Hellenized Jews against the more religious ones, but that the Hasmoneans forcibly circumcised children and such... They kind of rose to power and became almost immediately corrupt and drunk with it. The way I wrote Judah here, he feels like a pretty decent guy, but even he has a germ of a controlling nature about him. Let alone Simon.
> 
> History is complicated, man...
> 
> Anywho.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story, and feedback is always welcome!


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